The dressing room at halftime didn't feel like a team that was drawing.
It felt like a team that had been robbed by its own finishing, and everyone in the room knew it. Bruno sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor for a moment longer than usual before lifting his head. Højlund kept flexing his fingers like he could still feel the save Sánchez had made off him. McTominay was already on his feet, restless, the way he got when a game felt unfinished.
Ten Hag didn't raise his voice.
"You don't need to work harder," he said. "You've already shown you can break their midfield. We've done it all half. The problem is what happens after."
He brought up a clip on the screen — United's attack breaking down around Chelsea's box, then the frame jumping forward three seconds to Sterling carrying into forty meters of open grass.
